


separation anxiety

by galaxyeyedrops



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 22:42:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyeyedrops/pseuds/galaxyeyedrops
Summary: Yaldabaoth lies defeated; Ren sleeps in a cell. And Morgana is not dead.My entry for the p5 writing zine!





	separation anxiety

Nowadays, it's the city that wakes him up.

Ren's gentle hands—which sift through Morgana's fur as he shakes—are replaced by the wind, cutting and cold. His voice—rich, the edges muffled by a yawn—is drowned out by the fluctuating chatter of Shibuya. The fragrance of Leblanc's freshly ground coffee—a complex array of acrid, cinnamon, and sweet—is overpowered by the nearby dumpster.

A young girl, a block away from his makeshift home, takes pity on him and places a bowl of milk outside her door twice a day. It isn't the sashimi Sojiro mixes in with his meals, the limited-edition snacks Futaba fed him as he rested on her lap, or even the scraps Ren snuck him at restaurants, but it's something. 

She wears a kimono today, pale pink decorated with red and blue flowers. She giggles as he approaches, twirling to show off her clothes.

“What do you think?” she asks, leaning down to pat his head. “Do I look pretty, kitty?”

Morgana meows, hoping to convey approval. She grins, her hand drifting down to scratch his neck. “Mama says so too! She told me when she saw it at the store, she knew it was made for me. She said I was gonna be the prettiest person in Tokyo.”

Her fingers press against the spots that once carried a collar. Slowly, they drag around its shape. Her countenance changes, smile giving way to a sigh. 

“Sorry we can't take you with us,” she says. “I asked Mama but she said no.” She bites her lip but her eyes remain bright. “I promise to be back soon. And I'm gonna tell you about all the fun I had!”

She gives him one last pat before she withdraws—Morgana shivers as her warmth leaves him—and runs back to her house, the flowers on her dress floating behind her.

* * *

It's been a week since Morgana has lived on the streets. 

A week since he and his friends defeated Yaldabaoth. A week since he found out that his desperate attempts to be human were nothing more than desperate; since the same adults who let monsters roam free, locked Ren away. 

A week since he's died, too.

Morgana doesn't remember it well; one moment he was fading, tears dripping down his friends’ cheeks—he was struck with the desire to bottle them up and carry them into the afterlife, he's selfish he knows—and the next, he was safely deposited on Tokyo's back streets.

There wasn't a single scratch or scar on his body, his usually messy fur transformed into a coat worthy of gracing any pet magazine. The payoff was the exhaustion that followed, his bones aching at the slightest exertion. 

He fell asleep there, too tired to return to Leblanc for the night. And when he did go back, peeked through a window unnoticed, tried to come up with a way to announce his revival—he found that his best friend has taken his own place in the ranks of the disappeared.

* * *

It's a couple hours into the new year when he finds another familiar face. Or, to be more specific, faces. 

Haru and Makoto, both clad in kimono of their own, walk leisurely down the sidewalk across the street. 

The midday sun shines on them both, illuminating Makoto's smile. Morgana watches her lean in towards Haru, her mouth moving but the words lost amongst the crowd. Light catches on Haru's embroidered sleeves as she lifts a hand to cover her laugh, and he's stricken with the urge to follow.

He resists, it’s hard, but he resists. From their direction, Morgana guesses they're headed to Buchiko. Gathering in front of the statue was one of the things on which Ren occasionally insisted. _ I'm new here_, he'd say. _ I’ve always wanted to use this place as a meet up spot_. And sometimes, _ This is just like the movies_. It was the last one that convinced the group to keep humoring him most of all. The Phantom Thieves of Hearts are nothing if not ostentatious.

It was the same enthusiasm that led Morgana to sleep cuddled up to Buchiko those first three nights. It wasn't ideal—he drew too much attention, the crowds were louder, he'd get pushed around if he weren’t careful—yet he still did it.

Morgana shakes his head. The memories are wedged deep, hard to dislodge. By the time he's back to the present, Haru and Makoto are but specks in the distance.

* * *

Lady Ann is, simply put, the most beautiful person that Morgana's ever seen. Her looks are entrancing but he slowly finds himself infatuated with the heart underneath. How it beats unrestrained, pulses with anger for others more than herself. How it cries at injustice, for friend or foe alike.

He's not surprised to find her here; seeing Haru and Makoto heading to Buchiko guaranteed that he'd be running into the others, and to be honest, he's been seeing a lot of her in the past few days. Like him, she and Futaba have been roaming the streets. They're more purposeful in their exploration than he is, walking towards the train station sometimes, the 104 at others.

Futaba accompanies her today as well, Yusuke rounding out the pack. Similar to the two before them, they're dressed up in New Year's finery—color-coded in pink, green, and blue. No doubt Futaba's idea. 

They pass his hiding spot, and Morgana cranes his head forward to listen.

“—all your fault, Inari!” Futaba is saying. “I picked this one out at the beginning!”

Yusuke's voice is serene as he adjusts the sleeves of his own outfit. “It was best to consider all options. Being hasty only leads to mistakes.”

She huffs, cheeks puffed out. Ann leans closer. 

“Don’t worry about it!” she says, her smile reassuring. “Haru wouldn't have sent over so many clothes if she didn't figure you'd take your time with them. Plus, I texted Makoto earlier. She says they'll be making a couple stops first so it's not like we're holding them up!”

Futaba smiles and Morgana is struck with the realization that she's grown. He was with Ren as his friend held Futaba gently by the hand, acclimatizing her to the outside world. He watched as her trembles gave way under the force of her determination. He watches, still, as that's replaced by confidence—months back, he would have thought her current behavior, in a busy street no less, impossible.

These past few days, she's been trying her hardest, hasn't she? Besides her Metaverse skills, this admittedly is one of Futaba's abilities that Morgana most envies. Were she in his current position, would she have found another pathway to the Metaverse? Were she in his position would she hide away from her friends? Live like a coward, running away from every little thing?

It's not the first time thoughts like this have crept over Morgana. It's not the first time he has to convince himself that he's better than this. His pride burns. His heart even more so.

He follows them, cautious despite the general hubbub, carefully quiet and several feet apart. He has a hiding spot ready the moment someone looks so much as ready to turn. This body isn't as used to athletics as much as his other, and he has to rely on the crowd's general disinterest in street animals when muscle memory fails him.

Makoto and Haru are already there when they arrive. Laden with bags, Haru waves to the second group, beckoning them towards the benches. After a quick glare from Futaba—sent Yusuke's way—they wave back.

The crowd converges around their spot, shielding their sanctuary from prying eyes. Through the gaps, Morgana can only catch glimpses at a time. Makoto carefully prying out the staples from her own lucky bag. Yusuke affixes a silver watch to his wrist. Ann gently weaves Futaba's hair through her fingers as she styles it with fancy hair clips. Haru sorts through a collection of charms.

It's not long—only half an hour or so, Morgana guesses—before they leave. Makoto holds up her phone like a missive and together, they collect their things and leave. The nearest shrine is a short walk away, but it's with hurried footsteps that they board the train for one much further. Hidden inside a stranger's bag, Morgana only understands when the train announces the stop closest to Ryuji's neighborhood. They pile out, silk rumpled but no less cheerful, onto a far less busy station. 

The sky is hued in orange, the day turns to dusk as they approach the shrine. His friends cast long shadows as they climb the steps, reaching back to the foot of the stairs where Morgana sits. They stay up for what seems an eternity, the wait only broken up by the sight of Ryuji approaching. It startles Morgana into the forest and calls the group from their previously unseen position. He hurdles up the stairs; they meet him in the middle.

Clad in a yellow hoodie and jeans, Ryuji is mismatched from the others only by the courtesy of his clothing. 

“Sorry for making you all wait,” he says as he accepts his bag from Haru. “Mom was feeling a bit under the weather so I wanted to drop her back home first.”

He flushes red under Ann's teasing and Yusuke's accompanying compliments. The others watch, amused. Slowly, they descend, Futaba chattering excitedly about the special New Year's blend Sojiro promised as they head back to the station.

Diffused by the setting sun, they seem ethereal.

Morgana thinks of Ren as he walks away. The most important person in his life, caged and all alone. He thinks of Akechi, the man who could have been a friend. Corpse encased in metal, sunk to the ocean floor. 

He tries to not think of himself. A thing that couldn't even masquerade as human, now only able to watch and wait for change.

He passes the girl's house. His stomach rumbles but he ignores his bowl of milk.

Morgana's makeshift home lies at the foot of the dumpster, scattered. Several pieces of cardboard have travelled further, carried by the wind and revelers alike. The retrieval process is long and the assembly—this form resigning him to carry everything in his mouth—even longer.

It's late by the time he settles in, shivering amongst the scraps. The moon is but a sliver, shining with stolen light in spite of the cloud cover. The stars, while much larger, are only specks in the distance.

Morgana closes his eyes. He waits for dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> please open up your twitters and check out yul's (@ainsophist) accompanying art! while you're there, check out @p5writerszine for many good goods.


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